


Spooky Beetlejuice Oneshots

by xStardustInMyEyesx



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Additional tags to be added as I update, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xStardustInMyEyesx/pseuds/xStardustInMyEyesx
Summary: Exactly what the title says: a series of Beetlejuice/Reader one-shots.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 98





	1. Answering An Ad

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little short, mostly because I just wanted to get the ball rolling on this series. Hope you all enjoy it!

Answering An Ad

You'd seen a lot of ads in your lifetime, but this one was by far the strangest. After getting settled into your new house, a weird flyer popped up on your kitchen counter one night as if by magic. Which was silly, since sheets of paper don’t just appear out of thin air. It must’ve been left behind by the family you bought the house from. How you could’ve missed it you had no idea, but there it was, clear as day, offering the services of someone called Betelgeuse. It wasn’t an elaborate ad by any means, and it wasn’t particularly detailed on what it was for. The flyer simply said ‘Call on Betelgeuse to make your house feel like a home! Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!’. Your house already felt like a home, and even if it didn't, the ad was completely useless. There wasn’t even a phone number at the bottom, just the name ‘Betelgeuse’. So you wadded it up and threw it in the trash.

Weird stuff started happening after that. Your furniture seemed to be moving around by itself, your chairs in the living room never in the same position they had been before. You were having trouble sleeping because you’d wake up in the middle of the night, convinced that someone or something had been in your room, watching you. Glasses kept falling out of the cupboard in the kitchen, and one morning your bowl of cereal slid off the kitchen table and smashed on the floor. All of those things could be explained away, of course. Obviously furniture doesn’t move around by itself, you were imagining it. The glasses kept falling out of the cupboard because you were putting them too close to the edge. And the bowl, well, clearly your table wasn’t level. As for getting woken up, you were still getting used to the house. It made all kinds of settling sounds in the night: creaks, squeaks, pipes banging and gurgling. One of them was bound to wake you up. 

Though none of those things explained why more flyers kept popping up around the house, and in the strangest of places. Taped to your bathroom mirror (‘Reflection in the mirror not yours? Call Betelgeuse!’), on the windshield of your car (‘Unwanted visitors driving you nuts? Betelgeuse is here to help!’), in your underwear drawer (‘Always discreet, and only delicate if you need me to be. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!’), and in your freezer (‘Fresh out the grave and never frozen! Betelgeuse!’). Throwing one away was akin to cutting off the head of a hydra; two more would always take its place. After finding one in the sandwich you’d just made for your lunch, you’d finally had enough. 

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!” you snapped, crumpling the ad you’d taken a bite out of.

The ad disappeared and the room filled with neon green smoke. The lights flickered and thunder rumbled outside, despite it being a gorgeous day, and a very familiar-though deeply annoying-demon appeared in front of you, lounging on the table in a way he probably thought was alluring.

“Man, you sure are a stubborn one, babes,” he said, winking at you. “I can’t believe it took you this long to say my name again.”

You glared at him. “I moved to get away from you!”

“Come on, babes, I told you I was sorry!”

You’d summoned Beetlejuice by accident when you were living in your old apartment. Your friends were obsessed with the paranormal and supernatural, and since you were the only sceptic of the group, they’d lent you some occult books to try and convince you to see their point of view. While reading a dusty volume about different ghosts and demons, you stumbled upon a chapter dedicated to a demon called ‘Beetlejuice’. He was supposed to have amazing powers, but could only be summoned if you said his name three times. Wanting to prove to yourself and your friends once and for all that it was all total bullshit, you said his name. To your horror, a green-haired, scruffy-faced chubby guy in a moldy black and white striped suit appeared in front of you and planted a kiss on your lips to thank you for freeing him.

That should have been the end of it. He should’ve gone on to wreak havoc on the rest of the world and left you in peace. But of course he decided that since you’d summoned him, he was going to stick around and be your new best friend. He’d spend most of his time playing tricks and pulling pranks on you, and the one time you brought home a date, the guy had run away screaming, with maggots and worms squirming around on the top of his head. And since the book had forgotten to include a way to banish Beetlejuice after you summoned him, you were stuck with him.

And you tried everything to get rid of him. Cleansing the place with sage, blessing every room with holy water, lining windows and doorways with salt (you saw it on television once), even calling an exorcist. All it did was make him dig his heels in even more and insist that he wasn’t going anywhere. So like any other individual at the end of their rope, you tried to make the best of your situation. You allowed him to have free-reign of the living room, so he would have a place to call his own and leave your room alone. You gave him permission to try and scare you once a day, and encouraged him to go out and scare other people so you’d have time to yourself once in a while. The two of you were even able to sit down and actually have conversations, and as it turned out, you weren’t that different. Once you were able to get to know one another, your strained relationship became a genuine friendship.

A friendship that got messy when he made a move on you last month. The two of you had been watching a movie in the living room, huddled together under a blanket. After about twenty minutes, the arm that had been casually thrown across your shoulders worked its way down until it was at your waist, snaking around and pulling you even closer to him. Then his cold lips were on your neck, then your jaw, and then pressed against your lips, his icy tongue prodding them apart to get access into your mouth. 

You weren’t stupid, you knew he was attracted to you. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it. You lost count of how many times you caught him checking you out. And then there were the little gestures like him always having to be right up next to you on the couch, and he would hold your hand “platonically” when you went out somewhere together. Then there was the time he “accidentally” ruined all of your clothes an hour before you were supposed to get ready for a date and you had to cancel. For the most part, he was a gentleman (or as gentlemanly as he could be). He didn’t press his advantage, and other than an endless stream of sexual jokes and gestures, he didn’t make a move. But you knew that he was going to run out of patience and bite the bullet eventually.

What you didn’t let on, however, was that you shared his feelings. How could you not? He had a wicked sense of humor, he was willing to scare anyone who gave you a hard time or looked at you cross-eyed, and he was undeniably sexy. But his good points weren’t enough to get you to ignore the crushing reality of the situation. Apart from the obvious (you were a living person attracted to a dead guy, no amount of therapy could cure you at this point), you didn’t want to get romantically involved with Beetlejuice if he wasn’t going to stick around. He was a demon with all kinds of reality-altering powers, why would he want to date a boring human like you? Even if you ignored his powers, he was still a demon. He probably had all kinds of desires and needs that you would never be able to fulfill, and then he would be looking elsewhere to find someone who could. If you gave in, you would practically be asking him to leave.

So you decided to ruin it all before it had the chance to begin. You pushed him away and told him to get out. He’d apologized profusely and begged you to let him stay, insisting that he’d made a mistake and would never so much as look at you ever again, but you held firm, and with a heavy heart, watched him vanish. You didn’t see him around the apartment after that, but you decided to move out anyway as an extra precaution. The place reminded you too much of him, and you were getting tired of the apartment scene. Maybe if you made a fresh start, you’d be able to forget all about Beetlejuice and move on. You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Beetlejuice, please, just go away!” you begged, backing away from him.

He moved over to the edge of the table and sat up properly, his hair purple, swinging his legs like a little kid. “You’re not really still mad, are you? Look, I know I crossed a line, but it was a mistake! I’m not about to chase after someone who doesn’t want me!”

“That’s the problem, I do want you!” you confessed, feeling your face grow hot.

Pink mingled in with the purple in his hair, and he frowned at you, scratching his face.

“What do you mean? I kissed you and you got all mad.”

“I wasn’t mad. Beej, I really like you, okay? But you and I...it would never work. You  get that, don’t you?”

He crossed his arms. “Why not? What, I’m not good enough for you? You only go for guys with a pulse? What can they do that I can’t? Name three breather guys who are willing to eat a spider for you!”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You wished it was as simple as that. If you were normal at all, you would’ve found him to be completely disgusting. But since the universe thought it would be funny for you to have a thing for undead demons, you were stuck dealing with this.

“No, that’s not it either. I’m not good enough for  _ you _ ,” you explained. “You’ve got all of these really cool powers, and you probably want someone who can do all the things that you can do. I’m a boring human, how am I supposed to make you happy?”

Beetlejuice didn’t say anything for a very long time. Instead he simply stared at you, his mouth hanging open wider and wider until his jaw fell off and hit the floor. After the short scramble and chaos that ensued when he tried to reattach it, he stood in front of you, grinning like a little kid in a candy store.

“Y/N, babes, you’re too much,” he giggled. “Do you think I would’ve stuck around as long as I did if you were boring? I don’t have the attention span to deal with boring people, no matter how sexy they are. I don’t care that you’re human, you’re smart, you’re sexy, and you’re almost as twisted as I am. What’s not to like about you?”

Stereotypical butterflies were flying around in your stomach and you were blushing like crazy. It wasn’t a Shakespearean-level confession of affection, but it was exactly what you expected from him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were cold against yours, just like they had been for that first kiss you’d had, but you didn’t care. They quickly warmed up as your kiss deepened, and when his icy tongue tried to work its way into your mouth, you accepted it, relishing in his earthy, slightly-musty taste as he lapped at your cheeks.

Surprisingly, he broke away first, his face flushed and his hair a lovely shade of magenta. He was gasping for breaths he didn’t need, and a devilish smile was starting to spread across his face.

“Want to take this to your bedroom?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

You smirked. “Why not? I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

“Well, if you answered my ad sooner, we wouldn’t have had to wait this long.”

  
  



	2. Green-Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice has been acting strangely jealous the past two weeks, and after a terrible day, you finally confront him. He reveals that he's insecure about the way people see him when he's out with you, and you decide to take his mind off of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one features some vulnerable Keatlejuice. I know he's super gross (and evil), but there's so much nasty, possessive Keatlejuice out there that I wanted to put out a nicer little one-shot to try and shake things up. Hope you enjoy it!

Green-Eyed Monster

As you ran down the block, slipping and sliding through the pouring rain, your coat flapping wildly behind you, you silently prayed to whoever might be listening that Beetlejuice wasn’t home yet. Your day had been bad enough, you didn’t want to add anything to your misery. You missed the early train this morning because your alarm hadn’t gone off, so you were almost fifteen minutes late for work, you spilled coffee all over yourself at lunch and stained your favorite blouse, your work computer got a virus and lost all of your documents from the past week, and your last meeting of the day ran over an hour late so you'd had to take the most crowded train back home, so now you were running from the station all the way to your apartment so you could attempt to save a little face. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower and forget that today ever happened, and you wouldn't be able to do that if Beetlejuice decided to pick a fight with you. If any divine being or influence liked you at all, you'd come home to a quiet, empty apartment and would have a whole ten minutes to yourself before your ghost boyfriend returned from wherever he had been haunting today.

If divine beings existed, they definitely didn't like you. Or they enjoyed watching you suffer. You stumbled into your apartment, panting and wheezing from your impromptu run, and were greeted with the sight of the self-proclaimed Ghost With The Most waiting at the table for you, his arms crossed and his face looking downright murderous. He was alarming at the best of times, with his bone white skin with bits of mold, sunken eyes, wild green hair, mossy teeth, and filthy black and white striped suit, but this took the cake. If you weren't about to collapse from exhaustion, you would've been terrified. The last time you'd seen him with that look in his glowing green eyes, he had been about to feed Mrs. Fischer, your annoying neighbor, to a sandworm after she complained about the "disgusting pervert" she'd seen coming in and out of your apartment with you. 

"I know I'm late, don't start," you said exasperatedly, shedding your dripping coat and hanging it up. 

"You were supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. Where were you and who were you with?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. 

"I got stuck at work, and if you must know, I was with everyone else in my department because we had a late meeting. Look, I just ran ten blocks in the rain. I'm not in the mood for this." 

Every day for the past two weeks it had been the same thing. You'd come home from work, or grocery shopping, or the gym, and he'd ask the same question: "Where were you and who were you with?". It was beginning to grate on your nerves. He'd always been the jealous type, not wanting you out of his sight when you went out somewhere together, and going almost feral if some unfortunate guy was dumb enough to approach you, but this was too much. Maybe if you had been talking to or seeing someone else you’d understand, or if you had a history of cheating, but you weren’t and you didn’t. You were doing the things you had always done. So what was he seeing that you weren’t?

"You wouldn't be lyin' to me, would you, Y/N?" he asked, ignoring your tone. 

"Why would I need to lie to you? Do you want me to log into the time clock so you can see when I punched out today? I'll do it if it'll get you to stop accusing me."

You were trying hard to keep your temper, but it was a battle you were quickly losing. Couldn’t he tell how exhausted and completely done you were? How many times were you going to go through this routine before he got it through his thick, dusty skull that you weren’t cheating on him? 

“I wasn’t accusin’ you of nothin', I was just askin’ a question,” he replied smoothly, any hint of his previous anger now gone.

You knew better than to think he was actually going to let it go. Just like when he was pulling a prank or trying to scare someone, he was simply biding his time and pretending everything was fine. Then, once he was sure your guard was down, he’d pounce again. He’d never won any type of argument this way, but it didn’t stop him from repeatedly trying either. At least that part of him was predictable.

“An implicating question, but whatever. If you're finished, I’m going to take a shower,” you said flatly, pushing past him.

You stomped into your bedroom and grabbed some pajamas, then escaped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Now that Beetlejuice had more or less taken up a permanent residence in your apartment (the two of you had yet to officially say you were living together, but he spent more time here than he did anywhere else), the bathroom was the only place you could truly be by yourself. The only time he bathed was if you joined him, and more often than not you’d be too wrapped up in each other to take the time to get properly cleaned up. So when you needed time to yourself or to cool off after an argument, like right now, you sought refuge in the shower. It was the perfect place to complain to yourself about your ghostly boyfriend.

In the peace and quiet of the shower, you gleefully scrubbed away the stress and bad luck from the day. The hot water and steam felt so good on your skin it was almost enough to get you to forget about the angry ghost that was prowling around your apartment. Almost. 'Was he this infuriating when he was alive?' you thought, rubbing shampoo through your hair. 'Oh who am I kidding, he was probably even worse.’ You tried to remember when his suspicious behavior first started, in the hope that you could identify what brought it on, but nothing was coming to mind. But there must have been  _ some  _ kind of trigger. Romantic partners don’t just randomly start assuming their girlfriends are cheating on them without good reason. With a sigh, you rinsed your hair out and exited the shower. If you were going to get any answers, you’d have to talk to Beetlejuice. No doubt it would be like pulling teeth, but you had to try.

Once you were dry, moisturized, and in your pajamas, you stepped out into your bedroom, where Beetlejuice was lounging on your bed, trying to look nonchalant and failing completely; you knew he was gearing up for round two.

“You took your fuckin’ time,” he grumbled.

He snapped his fingers and an invisible force lifted you up and carried you over to the bed, dropping you like a sack of potatoes onto his lap. He grabbed you by the chin and planted a cold, rough kiss on your lips, but there was no affection behind it. You were right, he was still angry, and he wanted you to feel it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, pulling away.

“Whaddaya think I’m doin’? I’m kissin’ you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He really wasn’t going to make this easy for you. “What’s going on with you lately? You know I’m not cheating on you, so why are you being so crazy?”

He pushed you off his lap, grumbling. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

Resisting the urge to wring his neck, you took a deep breath and tried again. “Beetlejuice, please, just talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

He hissed at the sound of his name, baring his teeth at you like an angry cat. He leapt to his feet and started pacing around the room, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You wanna know? Fine. It’s like this: I’m not a typical-lookin’ guy. Sure, I ooze sexual charisma, but I’m not about to win any beauty contests, am I? And I know you see me for the stud I am, but other people look at me and all they see is a gross freak. Like that old bag Mrs. Fischer. She’s always tellin’ you I’m nothin’ but a pervert.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished yet. He silenced you with a growl and continued on, tugging at his hair in his frustration. “And if people keep tellin’ you I’m a gross freak, you’ll start believin’ it too, and then you’ll be tryin’ to find someone else. And since you livin' people are so busy all the time, it only makes sense if there's an overlap between relationships, and what am I gonna do when that happens? I ain’t young, babes, I can’t keep playin’ the field forever, I wanna settle down eventually. A guy gets tired of the constant movin', he gets a little anxious for someone to call his own, if you know what I'm sayin'."

He took a long drag on his cigarette, his hand shaking slightly from agitation. So this wasn’t about him being jealous, this was about him feeling insecure. He was afraid you’d pay attention to what other people thought and said and would try to trade up. You had the strong urge to laugh, but knew that would only make him feel worse. How could he think you actually cared about other people's opinions about you and your personal relationships? If you did, you never would have started dating him in the first place. It's not like dating a dead guy was going to win over your friends and neighbors. 

You stood up and wrapped your arms around him, drawing him in close. “Beej, I don’t care what anyone else thinks, and neither should you. If I wanted to be with a living guy, I would be. I’ve dated enough of them, why do you think I gave them all up for you? Like it or not, I love you and you're stuck with me."

He puffed out his chest, grinning broadly. “You love me? That’s embarrassing.” 

You rolled your eyes, stifling a smile. “Shut up.”

"I'm not sure I believe you, though. Maybe you should show me.”

“Maybe I should.”

You slowly got down on your knees and reached out to unzip his pants, but he grabbed your wrist.

“Nuh-uh, not tonight. I owe you for bein’ such an ass.”

In the blink of an eye you were lying on the bed, Beetlejuice’s body draped over yours. He flicked his wrist and both of you were stripped down, your skin erupting into goosebumps as it met his. He pressed a kiss to your lips before trailing down to your jawline, then your neck, down to your breasts. He closed his mouth around each of your nipples in turn, teasing them slightly with his teeth until they hardened into little peaks, then he made his way further south. He looked up at you briefly, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows, then began to work his magic. Dragging his tongue up and down your slit, the frigid dampness a pleasant contrast to your heated skin. His teeth grazed over your clit, making you shiver and gasp and grab hold of his hair, then he worked his tongue inside of you, curling it in a way that had you seeing stars. He alternated between licking and sucking, switching his focus from your clit to your dripping slit, occasionally using his teeth to bring you that much closer to the edge. His disembodied laugh echoed around you as you squirmed beneath him, bucking your hips and forcing his tongue even further inside you. Just as you were certain you wouldn’t be able to last any longer he stopped, making you whine in frustration.

“Hold your horses, babes, that was just the appetizer,” he chuckled, wiping his face on the back of his hand. “Now get ready for the main course.”

He lovingly spread your legs and brought you into position, lifting your hips and slowly inching his way inside of you with a groan. Once he was fully inside he paused, giving you the chance to adjust to his girth, then began to move, snapping his hips up with every thrust. By now you were a mess, only able to convey your pleasure through a series of grunts and moans that rivaled his. He was babbling something, but you were too far gone to concentrate on it. You climbed higher and higher, sloppily bucking your hips to try and keep up with his pace, and then it was over; as you climaxed you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him back down, biting into his shoulder as you clenched around him. He continued to thrust into you, riding your orgasm until he finally came, shooting his load deep inside you.

Beetlejuice collapsed against you and for a moment you both laid there, panting heavily, until he slowly pulled out of you. He snapped his fingers and both of you were cleaned up and dressed as if nothing had even happened, cuddling together.

“So do you believe me now?” you asked coyly, nuzzling up against his chest.

“Oh yeah, that did it,” he sighed happily, conjuring a cigarette and taking a drag. “You shoulda done that a week ago.”

You smacked him playfully. “You should’ve used your words and told me what was wrong. I can’t read minds, Beej.”

“Okay, I’ll use them now: I love you too, babes. Now all that’s left to do is marry you, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that I'm not the greatest smut writer out there, but I did my best. If there's anything you'd like me to write about as I do this series, let me know!


	3. Love In Unexpected Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your soulmate was dead, you knew that much from your black soulmarks. After talking to a psychic, you are given a spell to summon the soul of your dead love so you can learn to move on, and when you try it out, you end up summoning a dead demon. He claims to be the lost you'd lost, but that wasn't possible, right? Your suddenly glowing soulmarks had to be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I had about eight ideas for other one-shots, and of course none of them went anywhere. I hope this one makes up for the silence.

Love In Unexpected Places

You’ve always hated looking at your palms. All they did was serve as a reminder that you were different. Unlike your friends, who had love lines that would constantly be changing colors until they met their one true love and finally settled on a single shade, your love lines were black, and had been black since the day you were born, indicating that your soulmate was dead. It wasn’t enough that you had to grow up knowing that the person you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with was gone, but you also had to deal with pitying gazes and less-than-reassuring comments from anyone who happened to glance at your hands (“You poor dear!” and “At least you’ll be together in the afterlife.”).

Then there were all of the kids who picked on you growing up. Laughing that you were so weird, so unwanted, that the universe decided to kill your soulmate before you were born to save them from knowing you. Or the jokes about how they didn’t have to worry about growing up and waking up next to you every day. Between the constant taunts from one side and condolences from the other, it was almost unbearable. It had gotten to the point that you were constantly clad in gloves just to get people to leave you alone. But you never let them get to you. So what if you didn’t have a soulmate? You could still live a satisfying life.

Except when it came to romance. The black lines didn’t help your dating prospects. Nobody wanted to go out with a girl who very clearly wasn’t their soulmate. Why waste time on someone you weren’t meant to be with when you could use that time to date people who at least had a  _ chance  _ at being your true love? More than once your friends had tried to get you to use online dating websites that were meant for people in your “situation”, but they proved to be useless too. Most of the time they were filled with individuals who were far too old for you, and even if you came across someone your age, they weren’t looking for something long-term. Instead, they were looking for someone to help them forget about their loss. So you gave up on those types of things. Why bother going down that road if it didn’t lead where you wanted it to?

Your friends did not accept this defeat, however. After watching you struggle and end up lonely anyway, they decided to take matters into their own hands. For your birthday last year they paid for you to talk to a psychic about your dead soulmate, probably hoping that she would help you to get in touch with them and maybe move on. You thought the whole thing was utterly ridiculous, but you met with the woman anyway, and after a very long hour and a half in which she cast bones and runes to glean answers from “the other side”, she told you that the only way you could achieve happiness and love was to summon your soulmate and speak to him. She even provided you with the spell and ingredients you would need in order to do so. It was all very dramatic. You hoped your friends got their money's worth.

After speaking with the psychic, you got together with your friends and had a long laugh. Summoning the dead? How stupid was that? Even if it was possible, what would be the point? It would only make you feel sad, knowing that you’d never be able to see them in this life. It would be better if you continued to try and find someone living. There had to be someone out there for you. They’d never replace your soulmate, obviously, but they would at least be someone who you could spend your days with. But when you went to bed that night, you found your thoughts wandering to what the psychic had told you. The idea of conjuring the dead was a little nuts, sure, but it was also intriguing. It warranted a little research at least. If you could determine whether or not such a thing was possible, it would set your mind at ease. Why not exhaust all of your options before throwing in the towel? At least you could say you tried.

You spent months acquiring insight into different forms of summoning and invocation, ranging from the use of seances to entire occult rituals. Not wanting to limit yourself, you tried a lot of the smaller things, like using a Ouija board to contact your soulmate, but weren’t successful. You’d gotten a response from  _ something _ , but after asking for its name, the board went still and all contact ceased. Similar trials proved to be dead-ends. The spell the psychic had given you, as well as the ingredients, were still on your table, but you hadn’t wanted to go down that road just yet. It was a more advanced form of magic, according to your sources, and it could backfire if done incorrectly or with evil intentions. You were still new at this, and not entirely a believer, and didn’t want to bite off more than you could chew. But after expending so much energy and all sorts of resources and getting nowhere, you decided enough was enough. It was time to try it out. Was it crazy? Absolutely. Were you crazy at this point? Absolutely. Maybe a little crazy was necessary to get the results you needed.

That night, as a thunderstorm raged outside (perfect, almost as if the universe knew what you were about to do), you prepared the spell. Using the herbs you were given, you made a wide circle on the floor of your kitchen, large enough for someone to stand in. Then you placed a candle at each of the cardinal directions on that circle, lighting them in turn. You placed a goblet of wine and some bread in front of you (“offerings to the spirits” according to what you’ve read), lifted up the paper with the spell on it so you could see it better, and began to chant:

“I call forth the soul of my true love. Heed my call. Lift the veil that parts us, enter the mortal plane, and appear in this circle before me.”

You waited a few minutes, but there was nothing aside from the sound of rain thrashing your windows. Not even a flicker of the candles like in the movies. You frowned, glancing down at the text, skimming over it in case you missed something. No, you’d done and said everything correctly. Maybe you hadn’t spoken loud enough. You were trying to reach into the afterlife, not make a phone call, a normal tone of voice might not be sufficient for this sort of thing. You cleared your throat and tried again.

“ _ I call forth the soul of my true love. Heed my call. Lift the veil that parts us, enter the mortal plane, and appear in this circle before me! _ ”

There was a flash of light and what appeared to be a business card materialized in the center of the circle. That wasn’t supposed to happen, right?

“What?”

You picked up the card, completely at a loss. It was old and yellowing, the writing on it faded so much that all you could see was one word printed three times: Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse. You sat back, completely bemused. Okay, sure, you weren’t an expert when it came to this sort of thing, but you didn’t think that you were supposed to be conjuring business cards. And what was this ‘Betelgeuse’ thing all about? You had an extremely basic understanding of astronomy, you knew it was a star, but that was the extent of your knowledge. What did it have to do with your soulmate?

Beetlejuice. You knew that was how it was pronounced. In fact, it was one of your favorite stars because the name was so silly. Beetlejuice? Who had come up with that? You turned the card over in your hands to see if there was anything on the back, but there was nothing. What was going on?

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” you mused out loud.

All hell broke loose the moment you uttered the last syllable. Thunder boomed so loudly that it shook the entire house, the wind howled and moaned, and the windows rattled so hard you expected them to shatter. The candles were snuffed out by some unexplainable gust of wind, and you were left in pitch darkness. Then the lights turned back on and the candles were lit once again, illuminating a figure that appeared in the center of the circle.

The man was so peculiar that you thought you’d made a mistake somewhere in your conjuring. Surely this pudgy, green-haired man couldn’t be your soulmate. The universe wasn’t  _ that _ cruel, right? This guy had clearly been dead for ages, with his paper-white skin with spots of mold, and his ancient, dusty black and white striped suit. He was oddly cute, there was no doubt about that, and his intense amber eyes were enough to make you melt, but his aura and energy were too chaotic. There had to be some kind of mix-up.

“You got my name on your first try! I can’t believe it! Usually that confuses breathers!” the guy exclaimed, hopping out of the circle and hugging you tightly. “I knew you were smart enough to figure it out!”

“The business card...your name is Beetlejuice?” you asked, tearing yourself away from him.

“Technically it’s my middle name. My first name is Lawrence because my mother hated me. But that doesn’t matter, we’re together now, toots!”

He planted a cold, wet kiss on your lips, making you gag. You pushed him away, shuddering at the feel of his icy skin against yours. Who exactly was this person, and why had he ruined your summoning ritual?

“What are you doing here?” you asked. “I’m trying to find my soulmate! You ruined everything!”

“Babes, I  _ am  _ your soulmate. Look at my hands, and then look at yours.”

He held up his hands, displaying his palms. His love lines were a glowing green, even brighter than his hair. Determined to prove him wrong you removed your gloves, only to find that the previously black lines were the same shade of green as his.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, staring at your palms. “Holy fucking shit.”

There had to be some kind of mistake. You’d heard that once someone met their soulmate, they would feel some kind of connection to them, like the last piece of a puzzle fitting into place somewhere inside, or the cliche of sparks flying. You didn’t feel anything like that. You were too busy focusing on the shock of having finally gotten what you wanted, only for it to be this odd spirit.

He winced, his hair turning a dusty shade of purple. “I thought you would be happy to see me! I’ve been waiting to meet you for such a long time! I didn’t think you’d  _ ever  _ try that spell!”

“You knew I was trying to contact you this whole time?”

“Duh. You’re very pushy, trying to call me all the time. I can’t drop everything to talk to you every five minutes,” he replied, his hair slowly going back to green. “I’m a busy demon, you know. I can’t scare breathers if you’re always hitting me up.”

Frustration was beginning to build in your chest. You had no idea what he was talking about or who he even was. What did he mean by demon? And if he knew you were trying to contact him, why had he waited so long to give you an answer? You wanted answers, and whether he liked it or not, he was going to give them to you.

You grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the living room, ignoring his comments (“Be gentle, this is my first time with a breather!” and protests (“Ow, I bruise easily, you know!”), and pushed him onto the couch.

“Explain. Now,” you demanded, sitting down next to him.

He slumped back, groaning. “Explain what?”

You wanted to tear your hair out. “Oh, I don’t know, how about you being a demon? Or why you didn’t answer me when I tried to summon you before! For someone who wanted to meet me, you didn’t exactly try.”

“I’m a demon because I was born one, okay, and I don’t like talking about it because my mom was awful. I didn’t answer you when you tried to talk to me because I  _ couldn’t _ after you started asking for my name.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m cursed. I’m invisible to breathers unless one of them says my name three times, but I can’t tell anyone what it is. I had to wait for you to try the summoning spell so I could give you my card. Once you said my name three times I’d be visible and we could be together, and now we are, and I’m so happy I just want to kiss you!”

Beetlejuice wrapped his arms around you and tugged you closer, trying to press his lips to yours once again, but you wormed your way out of his grasp.

“This is real, right?” you asked slowly. “Like, you’re not going to disappear or anything, are you?”  
Now that you’d gotten some answers out of him and the shock had subsided, you found yourself feeling more comfortable with the idea of him being your soulmate. Maybe all of those stories about feeling complete weren’t total bullshit because you certainly felt the two of you as a couple made sense. Yeah, it was deeply weird to be in this position with a dead guy, but it could be worse. Like if he had to go back to wherever it was he had come from and you’d have to be alone again. Or if this ended up being one of those things that you’d have to die in order for the two of you to be together. As much as you enjoyed having someone, you didn’t want to literally give up your life for him. You were sort of attached to being alive.

He chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere, babes. Technically since you summoned me, I don’t have to go away unless you banish me! I’m in it for the long haul”

“And I don’t have to die or anything like that? We can just...be together?”

The look he gave you was all the answer you needed. His brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side, like a puppy trying to work out a problem.

“Why would you have to die?” he asked. “You’ve been watching a lot of television, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, blushing slightly. “I thought there might be a catch. I don’t know the rules for this.”

He laughed. “Rules? I don’t have any rules! But there is one little thing: marry me and I become a breather just like you.”

Marriage? That was a little presumptuous. You had just found each other, the idea of getting married was laughable. Soulmate or not, it was too early to be thinking about that. 

“Is that a proposal? You could at least buy me a drink first,” you teased. “Sorry, but I need to know you longer than ten minutes before I can even consider that.”

He smirked. “Baby steps, huh? Yeah, I can do that.”

He leaned forward again to kiss you, but this time you didn’t stop him. Yes, his lips were cold and a little stiff, and yes, when he slipped his tongue in your mouth it left a slightly moldy aftertaste, but you couldn’t care less. And when you went to bed that night tucked safely in his arms, you felt happier than you had ever felt before. It didn’t matter if Beetlejuice was a dead demon, he was your true love, and you weren’t going to spend any more time without him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, my next one won't take as long as this one did. I've got three on deck, and they'll be added shortly.


	4. A "Perfect" End To 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice wakes you up early on New Year's Eve, wanting to throw a New Year's Eve party so the two of you can celebrate the end of 2020. Which would be fine if he didn't insist he needed to do everything himself so it can be "perfect". And when he tears everything apart because he lost something, you're left even more confused. What could he be planning? And why would a little party between the two of you have to be perfect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really long time since I updated this, and I'm truly sorry about that. I got my job back and didn't have the time to write like I wanted, and then I lost it again after we had to close (again) because of Covid, and then I had some problems with my mental health, and since then I've been having a hard time getting back into the groove of writing again. Hopefully now that I've started up again I can keep a momentum and continue to churn things out.

A "Perfect" End To 2020

“Happy New Year ya breathin’ fucks!” a familiar voice shouted, loud enough to be heard by everyone in a five mile radius.

You started awake, your heartbeat even faster than your breathing. You didn’t remember asking for a wake up call, but yet there was Beetlejuice, your demonic boyfriend, standing over you on your bed, grinning like the absolute madman that he was. Decked out in his usual black and white striped suit, he had a purple party hat nestled in his green hair and was sporting pair of glittery 2008 glasses (you weren’t sure if he was making some kind of a statement about the upcoming year or if he was trying to be funny), and was rattling a dilapidated dimestore noisemaker.

“Beej, what the fuck?” you groaned, throwing a pillow at him. “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock. Now get up, I wanna show you somethin’!” he replied cheerfully, bouncing up and down.

You yawned, rubbing your eyes. “What are you talking about? What do you want to show me?”

“If you wanna know, you have to get up!”

“You’re so lucky I love you,” you sighed, allowing him to drag you out of bed.

“Nah, I’m lucky that you’re a sucker when it comes to surprises,” he said, grinning wickedly.

Before you could protest he blindfolded you, and led you by the hand through the house, babbling about how much you were going to love what you were about to see. He was so excited that you were sure that he was going to walk you into a wall or a door, but then he stopped you and whipped off the blindfold and you feasted your eyes on the state of your living room.

He’d really outdone himself this time. Dozens of black and gold balloons were floating listlessly throughout the room, their long ribbons trailing the ground and making you worry that you would trip over one and break your neck. A glittering gold 2021 banner was hung along the wall, and there seemed to be a thick layer of confetti on every surface. Party hats and noisemakers were placed on the coffee table, and he’d even set out champagne flutes. There was only one problem: you weren’t having a party. 

“Beej, this is really great, but you have to get rid of this stuff,” you said delicately. “We can’t have a New Year's Eve party, there's a pandemic going on!”

He rolled his eyes. “Duh, I know that, this is a party for  _ us _ .”

You frowned. “What do we have to celebrate? I’ve been unemployed since March, hundreds of thousands of people have died, I haven’t seen my family in person since this whole thing started, and the government continues to not care about us. If you ask me, this year doesn’t deserve a celebration.”

He pulled you close and kissed your nose, making you giggle despite your irritation. “Come on, babes, that’s why we  _ need  _ this. Don’t you want to end this year on a good note?”

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. There had been so many horrible things that happened, not just to you personally but to a lot of other people, and so much of your time was spent worrying about your health and how you were going to survive on limited funds, you needed something to try to get you excited about leaving 2020 far behind you. And if having a party with your boyfriend did that, then why not?

“Fine, we’ll have a party,” you conceded. “Just don’t do anything crazy. I don’t want a repeat of my birthday.”

For your last birthday he put firecrackers in your cake because he thought they would be better than candles and it exploded everywhere, covering every inch of your kitchen in a thick layer of frosting and cake crumbs. It would have been funny, but then he disappeared (afraid of the repercussions) and left you to clean up the mess on your own. You haven’t had a slice of cake since.

“That was one time, let it go! You’ll love what I got planned, it’ll be the surprise of your life!”

That affirmation didn’t exactly set you at ease, but you’d already agreed, so you couldn’t back out. Plus how much damage could he actually do? As long as he didn’t set off any fireworks in the house when the clock struck midnight, it would probably be fine. Even  _ he  _ wasn’t that crazy. 

“I can’t wait,” you said flatly. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No, there’s still a lot left to do!”

“What do you mean? You decorated, and I can’t imagine it’ll take long to get food ready since it’s just the two of us and we don’t even have to start that until later. So what’s the rush?”

He pouted, crossing his arms. “It’s not just about the new year, there’s somethin’ else too. Everythin’ has to be perfect.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Nothin’, don’t worry about it, mind your own business,” he grumbled, the tips of his hair turning a mix of pink and purple.

Whatever he was referring to, it was stressing him out. You’d been with him long enough to know that his hair color changed with his emotions, and that purple meant he was upset. The tinge of pink confused you, since that was his affectionate, blushing color, but you didn’t ask him about it. If he wanted to discuss it he would bring it up himself. The only thing you could do was try to keep him on an even keel and prevent him from doing anything completely irrational.

“Okay. Let me get dressed and eat breakfast and then we’ll get started.” 

He didn’t protest, which was a relief, but he still complained when you took more than five minutes to get ready for the day, and urged you to eat faster as soon as you had your first spoonful of your cereal. It took a lot of self control to not yell at him for being so pushy, but you finished your cereal without incident and stood at attention, ready for whatever work he wanted you to do. If he wanted to start getting ready before ten in the morning, you could only imagine what he had planned. Especially since with a snap of his fingers he could have everything exactly the way he wanted it to be. But as soon as you suggested that he take the easy way out he glowered at you and stressed that this party was too important and he needed to do everything by hand, so you left it at that. 

“So what do you need me to do?” you asked. “What’s my job?”

He scoffed. “Your job? You don’t have one, it’s all taken care of. All you gotta do is stay outta the way as I set up.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. If he didn’t want your help, then why was he being so annoying about getting started? And what did he expect you to do while he did everything? Twiddle your thumbs? The least he could do was let you handle the food. The last time he attempted to cook he set fire to the toaster. 

“So you don’t need any help. At all. You’ve got everything under control,” you said, making sure he knew what he was saying. “There’s absolutely nothing you could use a hand with.”

He nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Then why did you say I couldn't go back to sleep because there was too much to do?”   


“When did I say that?”

The urge to throttle had never hit as hard as it did just then. ‘For his sake, this party better be worth it,’ you thought angrily. ‘Or else I’m going to kill him.’ But you couldn’t be too angry with him even if you wanted to be (and you  _ desperately  _ wanted to be). When he got excited about something, he tended to get a little sidetracked. It was like his entire person went into overdrive and didn’t function properly, his mouth and body out of sync with his brain.

“Never mind. Can I watch tv while you do whatever you need to do?”

“Sure, I don’t care.”

You planted yourself on the couch and watched tv for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, pretending not to hear the various bangs and muffled curses that echoed from the kitchen as Beetlejuice worked on whatever it was he was putting together. You knew better than to investigate the source of the commotion. He was sort of like a magician during times like this; you didn’t need to know how his tricks were done, you just needed to be impressed when it was all done.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, in spite of the occasional clamoring, because before you knew what was happening Beetlejuice was shaking you awake. You checked the time to see if you missed anything; it was six-thirty already? When did that happen?

“Babes, you gotta get up for a minute,” he was saying.

Even in your tired haze you could hear the urgency in his voice. Something was wrong, but you weren’t quite sure what.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, jumping to your feet. Did he set the kitchen on fire? Did he flood the place? Did his clones get loose and blow up the bathroom again?

Your mind was racing with a series of horrible possibilities, each one more absurd than the last, and the anxious look on his face did little to reassure you. You whipped your phone out of your pocket, ready to call 911, when he finally revealed the problem.

“I lost somethin’!” he panicked, running his hands through his purple and white streaked hair. “Somethin’ really important. I thought I had it in my pocket but I just checked and it ain’t there and if I lost it I dunno what I’m gonna do!”

You breathed a sigh of relief in spite of yourself. Okay, so it wasn’t a huge emergency. He’d just misplaced something, that’s all. Surely it wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be.

“Beej, calm down. What exactly did you lose?” you asked, watching as he tore apart the couch cushions.

“I can’t tell you,” he replied, moaning and tugging at his hair when he failed to find whatever it was he was looking for.

“Why not? I can’t help you find it if you don’t tell me what it is,” you reasoned.

“Because it’ll ruin everythin'!” he snarled. “I don't want your help with this, just get outta my way!”

His sharp tone startled you enough to make you step back. He never raised his voice to you, not even when you were fighting and he was absolutely furious with you. You both had been raised by parents with anger problems (though he definitely had it worse than you did, Juno was an absolute  _ monster _ ), and as a consequence neither one of you wanted to yell to prove a point. Until today, anyway.

“Fine. I’ll be in the bedroom,” you said, keeping your voice as emotionless as possible. “Let me know when it’s safe for me to come out.”

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he pleaded, his hair now a deep blue. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Beetlejuice. Just sort out whatever you need to sort out, okay?”

You left the living room, ignoring the distinct sound of him kicking the coffee table in frustration. You weren’t hurt, not really, but you were still surprised that he’d taken that tone with you. What could be so vital for this party that he lost his temper with you while trying to find it? And why did he refuse to tell you what it was? It couldn’t be  _ that  _ important. 

You stayed in the bedroom for what like ages, flipping indifferently through one of your books. You heard a smash from the living room, but you didn’t get up to see what was going on for fear of starting a real fight. You’d learned a long time ago that when it came to being in a relationship with Beetlejuice it was all about choosing your battles wisely. Going in there and losing your mind over a couple of broken knickknacks was a waste of time and energy, mainly because it was hardly the first time he’d broken something that belonged to you. Honestly, it was your own fault for leaving breakable things out where he could get at them. He was like a damn cat in that respect.

When the ruckus was finally over you went back into the living room, where Beetlejuice was sitting on the couch, breathing heavily and holding his head in his hands. His hair was mostly green again, except for a streak of blue, which was a good sign. All of the decorations he’d put up were now completely destroyed: the banner was torn to pieces, the only remnants of the balloons were pieces of latex and shredded ribbons, the party hats and noisemakers had been crushed, and the champagne flutes were nothing more than glittering dust ground into the carpet. Luckily, that was all that was ruined. You weren’t sure how, but he had managed not to demolish the room entirely and you were grateful for the miracle.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” you asked, sitting down next to him.

He nodded, patting his jacket pocket. “Had it in here the whole time.”

You smiled slightly. “Well I’m glad you didn’t tear apart the house for no reason.”

You meant it as a joke, wanting to lighten the mood and break some of the tension, but all he did was slump forward miserably. 

“I’m sorry, babes, I ruined the whole night,” he mumbled. “I wanted everythin’ to be perfect and all I did was yell at you and make a mess.”

“Bug, you snapped at me, you didn’t yell, so stop worrying about that,” you said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And you didn’t ruin the whole night, it’s only, like, eight-thirty. You can use your powers to put everything back to normal.”

“Yeah, but my plan is still gonna be wrecked.”

“How about you fix everything, then tell me about your plan, and I’ll let you know if it’s wrecked?”

He sighed in defeat and snapped his fingers. In seconds the living room was back to how it had been this morning, the decorations and the party favors as good as new. But even with the festive atmosphere restored and everything back to normal, his mood didn’t shift. He just slumped further into the couch.

“So what was this plan of yours?” you prompted, forcing him to sit up. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

“I was sorta gonna...propose to you,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a speech, and I got the ring and everythin’. That’s why I went crazy, I thought I lost the damn thing.”

He pulled a little black box out of his pocket, his hair streaked with yellow. You stared at the box uncomprehendingly. To say you were shocked would be an understatement. You’d been dating for two years, you were living together, and the two of you were constantly expressing your love for each other, but you never imagined he would want to  _ marry  _ you. You never talked about it. You were aware that he would become living if you got married, but he didn’t seem too keen on taking the next step with you. Something about not wanting to get stabbed in the gut again. When did he decide he was ready for this?

‘He wants to…? As in…? What?’ you asked yourself, your brain having trouble making sense of the situation. Then the very last puzzle piece clicked into place. Why hadn’t you realized sooner? That’s why he’d been so squirrelly and agitated today, and why he kept insisting that everything had to be perfect. He never would have done that if he was up to his usual tricks. How could you have not seen it? You were such an idiot.

“It was a dumb idea, wasn’t it? You don’t wanna get married,” he said, mistaking your silence for disgust. 

“I never said that!” you said a little too quickly. “Give me the speech, I want to hear it.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Oh, um, are you sure? It’s not that great, I didn’t have a lotta time to plan it out. Maybe we should just forget it.”

“Nope, I need to hear this speech, Beetlejuice. Right now.”

“Fine.” He took your hand and brought you closer, his eyes fixed on yours. “Y/N, I know I say it all the time, but I’m completely in love with you, and I’m so fuckin’ happy that you’re insane enough to love me back . I never even imagined that somethin’ like this would happen when you summoned me, I thought you’d get sick of me like everybody else, but I must’ve done somethin’ right since you’re lettin’ me do this right now. Look, I know I ain’t an easy guy to love, and I don’t make your life easy, but I’m tryin’, and I promise I’ll never hurt you. And I know I was scared before, but I’m ready to be alive if I get to spend that life with you. So will you marry me?”

It wasn’t a grand proposal, or the most romantic one, but it’s exactly what you wanted to hear from him. You could tell from the look in his eyes, the earnestness in his voice, and the bright pink shade of his hair that he meant every word he’d said, and that was enough for you.

“Yes.” The thought of turning him down didn’t even cross your mind. 

His brow furrowed. “‘Yes’? Whaddaya mean ‘yes’?”

“You asked me and I’m giving you an answer. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Beetlejuice’s face lit up as realization hit him. For a second he sat there, frozen, a giant grin plastered from ear to ear, before he leapt into the air and burst into a shower of black confetti and glitter, his disembodied laugh echoing around the room. Then he floated back down and tugged you to your feet, bringing you in for a deep, dizzying kiss that left you breathless.

“Wait, what am I doin’? I gotta give you the ring!” he exclaimed, pulling away.

He opened the box to reveal a ruby-studded silver band set with a trio of black diamonds. It wasn’t a typical engagement ring, but he wasn’t a typical fiancé, and you loved it as much as you loved him.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, allowing him to slip it on your finger.

He shrugged. “I found it.”

“You mean you stole it.”

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Stealing an engagement was hardly the worst thing he’d ever done. You were surprised he didn’t kill anyone for it. Not that you cared about that right now. Honestly, you were happy to finally have him back in good spirits. Now that everything was back to normal and he’d popped the question, you could finally have the little party he’d been planning all day. And you actually had something to celebrate other than the end to a lousy year.

“Whatever you say, bug. How about we start that party you promised me?” you asked.

He smirked. “Sure thing, babes.”

It wasn’t a raucous party, by all intents and purposes it wasn’t even technically a party. The two of you simply spent the rest of the night curled up on the couch, flipping through the different New Year’s Eve specials on television and munching on some of the snacks he’d made earlier. It was a nice, quiet night, and exactly the type of night the two of you needed after your rollercoaster of a day. When the ball dropped, signifying the start of 2021, he popped a bottle of champagne and made a toast (“To the New Year! Let’s hope it’s not as shitty as the last one!”), then promptly tossed the drinks aside undrunk and planted a kiss on your lips. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and bringing him closer. For once, you were hopeful about the new year. Even if the world continued to be a giant dumpster fire, at least you’d have a wedding to look forward to.

  
  



End file.
